


Part the Flesh to Reach the Bone

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Graphic Violence, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: Stepping back, Ignis dodged the next swing and took a closer look. There was something different about Gladio – normally, under confusion, they were all over the place. They'd swing at an enemy one second, a friend the next, and a tree stump the one after. It was, generally speaking, more humiliating than anything else.This time Gladio has his eyes fixed on him and him alone, hard with intent and a fury Ignis hadn't ever seen before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on the kink meme: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7688238#cmt7688238
> 
> Any and all concrit is welcome. Thank you for reading!

Ignis didn't quite realise it until Gladio took a swing at him – then all it needed was a look in his glazed, narrowed eyes, and he knew what was wrong. Confusion: annoying, but not disastrous. If only they hadn't used up the last of their smelling salts on a hunt earlier that day.

Stepping back, Ignis dodged the next swing and took a closer look. There was something different about Gladio – normally, under confusion, they were all over the place. They'd swing at an enemy one second, a friend the next, and a tree stump the one after. It was, generally speaking, more humiliating than anything else.

This time Gladio has his eyes fixed on him and him alone, hard with intent and a fury Ignis hadn't ever seen before.

A little way away, Noct shouted – out of irritation, it sounded like, but Ignis turned his head to look all the same. Gladio did as well, still with that expression, lips pulled back in a half-snarl, and Ignis made the snap-second decision to ram the butt of his lance into Gladio's chest, hard. In any other instance he'd distract with harmless taps and simply keep out of reach. Now something like fear made his throat dry, and heartbeat quicken, and instinct told him that he had to do anything to keep Gladio's attention off of Noct.

Gladio made a swipe for him, and his sword would have cut Ignis in two if he hadn't stepped back out of the way in time.

'Gladio's got himself confused,' Ignis called. 'I'll keep him distracted, you two get on with the hunt.'

Noct shouted his confirmation, not questioning why exactly Gladio needed to be distracted, and Ignis tapped Gladio on the shoulder again when he made to look around. Gladio growled, familiar frustration turned into something deadly; his next blow was enough to knock the lance clean out of Ignis' hands, send it across the floor and into a bush, where Ignis let it shatter back into the armiger. The ground was dry, dusty, full of rocks and bits of stunted shrubs. Ignis skirted around one such shrub as he summoned his lance back, just managing to deflect a blow that shot pain through his arms and made his fingers numb.

This wasn't normal at all. Gladio should have been distracted by something else now. Ignis just had time to flip back, out of the way, before another would-be death blow landed where he'd been standing.

He tried to disarm him, knocking his elbow, but Gladio brushed it off and nicked Ignis with the tip of his sword. Ignis hissed, stepping back, and was saved from having his ribs sliced in half by his lance that he'd managed to bring up last second. He was still knocked back, and a followup blow forced him onto his back, on the floor. His upper arm was bleeding heavily.

Gladio lifted his sword, swinging it down, and Ignis rolled, stumbling as he tried to find his feet beneath him then immediately after forced to jump to avoid Gladio's next swing at his legs. His heart beat hard in his throat; that had been far too close. As this was, he knew, with certainty, he would not last long.

He'd trained extensively for battle – for defence, for offence – since he was sixteen years old, and before that he'd had a decade of casual lessons in gymnastics and self-defence. He had natural talent paired with the conviction to work hard and excel, to prove himself, to be what Noct needed and more. He was exceptionally good. He would never be any less for Noct.

Gladio was Noct's shield. He had been trained to fight since almost as long as he could stand and hold a weapon. Ignis was exceptionally good but Gladio stood among the best. Whenever he fought and occasionally bested Gladio in sparring it was because Gladio had pulled his punches, let himself get complacent, lowered himself to Ignis' level for the sake of a decent spar. Ignis couldn't beat Gladio in a real fight any more than Gladio could outmanoeuvre him in the council chamber.

And now – all it would take would be for Ignis to make one slip, one mistake, and he'd be dead. Gladio, in this state, was not be capable of administering phoenix down. And the last thing he needed was for Gladio to finish him off then turn on Noct.

Ignis could feel sweat on his palms, armpits, in the small of his back. He could hear his heart beat in his ears, and his rasping breath, but apart from that things seemed to have gone very quiet. He couldn't let Gladio be distracted by Noct or Prompto. Even if they could, for the most part, look after themselves, all it would take would be one small error and–

Another swing of Gladio's sword; Ignis rolled to avoid it, biting back a cry as he put his weight on his injured arm, the cut pulling and tearing further. Gladio's sword cleaved the shrub he'd been besides in two as he danced back, throwing one of his daggers and knocking Gladio on the head with the hilt of it. It should have stopped him, even for a second, but Gladio snarled and didn't stop, and there was no trace of the man Ignis knew in that sound.

They didn't have smelling salts. Would smelling salts even work on Gladio, given that this was unlike any confusion they'd seen before?

A swing of Gladio's sword, and another, and another, and Ignis could feel the fear and odd resignation both settle in as he blocked and parried and avoided. He couldn't keep doing this forever – sooner or later, he'd be caught. His legs burnt with overexertion. His shoulders were stiff and aching from deflecting Gladio's powerful swings. How could he break Gladio out of this? Gladio's sword cut through the meat of his thigh. Just a short, shallow wound, but the pain startled Ignis, sharp and fresh over the pulsing, dull ache of the rest of his body.

He couldn't keep doing this. It wasn't good enough to keep this up, not unless Gladio snapped out of it within the next minute or so, and even that was risky.

With a sharp swing of his lance he knocked Gladio's sword down, off-balance; he ducked under the next swing, then brought himself within reach to rap Gladio's right hand as hard as he could, aiming to break the knuckles.

Gladio let out a short yell – Ignis dodged back, but not before gaining another cut across his chest, from sternum down to his navel. The flush of hot blood on his skin, soaking into his clothes, came a second before the pain. Another desperate rap of Gladio's knuckles, then a blow to his elbow. Gladio deflected both and knocked Ignis down hard enough he bounced and rolled, stopping only as he got tangled in the thorny branches of a nearby shrub. He gasped for breath, kicking out at Gladio's feet as he approached, saving himself only barely from a blow that would have impaled him right through the ribcage.

Gladio still wasn't getting any better. His eyes were still furious, no hint of recognition.

Ignis picked himself up and ran.

He had to get him away from Noct. He was a faster runner than Gladio; he had better endurance. Perhaps if he could simply keep them running for long enough Gladio would come back to himself without them having to exchange any more blows.

Fingers scrabbling across his back, trying to grab him. Ignis forced himself to run faster, skidded across loose sand, jumped the tangle of roots in his way. Gladio was not pacing himself. This was a sprint. Already his throat was raw, his lungs burning – but he could do it. As much as he was wearing himself out, Gladio would be doing the same but faster.

The world fell from under his feet. Ignis tumbled forwards, rolling head over heels over head and lay there in the sand struggling to breathe, curled up on his side. His back was alight with agony. Every breath was a sharp spike of pain. He'd lost his spectacles.

Gladio's feet beside him: he twisted as Gladio bent down and knocked him over with a kick to the side of his knees. A hand grabbed his ankle as Ignis struggled to his feet, yanking him back down again.

He saw Gladio's shield lying a few feet away. Gladio must have thrown it at him, Ignis thought distantly, as he was dragged backwards. He rolled onto his back, ignoring how the sand and dirt were grinding into his wounds, and kicked Gladio in the face, following that with a blow from his lance. The swing was too short for any much power, and he'd hit Gladio with the pole rather than the sharp cutting edge, but it should have been enough to force him to let go of his leg. It wasn't; Gladio didn't let go. Gladio scrambled to his knees, catching the lance with his free hand and forcing it back down on Ignis, until Ignis let it go to send it to the armiger.

No longer supported by the lance Gladio tipped forwards, and Ignis got his feet between them to kick him over his head. He rolled onto his knees, but Gladio's large hand grasped the nape of his neck, fingers curling around his throat, and shoved him face-down onto the ground.

Ignis reached back and snapped Gladio's little finger. Gladio didn't make a sound. His grip tightened. Pain kicked through Ignis, terror as the vulnerable flesh of his neck bruised – he bucked, feet scraping the ground uselessly. White noise roared in his head as Gladio's other hand came round and clamped tight over his throat.

He couldn't breathe. Daggers appeared in his hands, but Gladio shook him hard, smashing his head into the ground. He felt his nose break, then one of his cheekbones as Gladio did it again – hearing the crack, hot agony slicing its way across his skull. He twisted, kicking, and brought a dagger to slice at Gladio's leg where he knelt with his knees either side of Ignis' hips, but Gladio let go of Ignis' throat to catch his hand and press it down against the floor until he was forced to let go, feeling the bones of his wrist grind together.

He tried with his other dagger, in his other hand. Gladio forced his head against the floor, shoving his face down until Ignis cried out, letting go of his daggers, choking on the dirt and dust getting into his mouth and inhaled into his lungs. Gladio wrapped his hand back around Ignis' neck.

Black crept over Ignis' eyesight. His heartbeat in his head rattled away like a toddler shaking a toy. White noise, and pain, and the feeling of consciousness slipping away from him.

Gladio let go, and it was all he could do to cough, choking and gagging around the swollen pain in his throat. There were hands under his armpits, hauling him along, until he was draped over something – a fallen tree branch under his hips. His hands lay nerveless on the ground, his body limp like a carcase on the butcher's block. His head was stuffed full of steel wool. His lungs burnt and burnt and burnt with every breath he scraped in through his bruised throat.

Gladio's hands on his belt. What was he doing? He wasn't attacking. It seemed almost like he'd snapped out of his confusion, but then, Ignis tried to think, were Gladio in his right mind he'd probably be more vocally concerned at the very least. He probably wouldn't be trying to undo and tug down Ignis' trousers.

Ignis got his hands under him, crawling on his forearms, getting blood into the dirt and dirt into the bloodied mess of his clothes and flesh. A hand fell between his shoulders, pinning him. He didn't have the energy to fight. His whole body was pulled backwards, hips scraping the branch beneath him. What was – oh. The hot touch of skin on bare skin. A hand pushing up his shirt, on his lower back, scalding hot.

Ignis lifted himself but was shoved back down again. His head cracked against a stone and his vision went dark for a moment. He could still feel hands on his skin, and something between his legs, forcing them to spread.

No. No–

He reached inside the armiger, and wrapped his fingers around a potion. Healed, he'd be able to fight back. He wouldn't–

If he took a potion, Noct would think he were in trouble. If Noct thought he were in trouble, especially since they were separated in battle, he'd come looking for him. If he came looking, and found them, and aggravated Gladio–

Ignis let go of the potion and dug his fingertips into the dirt in front of his face. He could summon his smallest daggers, keep them out of sight until Gladio was sufficiently distracted and then attack, only Gladio hadn't seemed at all bothered by broken fingers, or bruised knuckles, or blows to the head that should have given him concussion – what would the pain from his smallest daggers do? Where even could he reach that Gladio wouldn't intercept; what damage could he do that wouldn't make Gladio return it ten times over?

Hot skin on his, slick with sweat. He'd wanted this, at one point, in a very fundamentally different way. They both had, or so he'd thought. Was that why Gladio was doing this now? Or was it purely this new type of confusion driving him?

He wasn't thinking straight, he decided, as broad fingers probed him, and he heard, as if from a great distance, the sound of spitting. His heartbeat made him feel sick. Or perhaps that was the situation. His head ached. The floor wouldn't stay steady beneath him. His vision was blurred even beyond the need for his spectacles. Fingers on him, in him, wet and slick, forcing him open. It hurt.

This was the confusion, the status effect. This wasn't Gladio acting.

He pulled a knee beneath him and rolled, flinging his body sideways. It broke Gladio's grip on him, but with his trousers tangled around his thighs and his head still spinning, drunk on terror, he barely managed to crawl to his hands and knees before Gladio was back on him, slamming him to the ground with the full weight of his body.

Hands, back on his throat. His body, hauled back over to the fallen branch, laid over it like an offering. He couldn't breathe. He kicked, but Gladio's weight was on his lower back and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Gladio's fingers were tightening and tightening and then something blunt, hot, slippery against him – he opened his mouth but couldn't squeeze anything past the vice around his neck.

Gladio pushed, forcing the head of his cock in, then paused. Ignis could feel himself clench down hard around him, body twitching and shuddering its useless protest. It hurt. Not more than anything else – his broken nose and cheekbone, pressed hard into the dirt, grinding bone on snapped bone. The long cuts on his arms and chest. His throat. His lungs, his back. It was just one more hurt to the cacophony that already rattled around his body, inhabiting his bones like wood boring beetles. It still hurt. The pain clutched at his chest, his heart and lungs and guts.

This wasn't Gladio. This wasn't him.

At least, he thought, grasping for the idea as it swam in front of him, elusive, it was better than death – if only because this way Gladio wouldn't wake to find Ignis' dead body, past the point of recovery, and Noct wouldn't find Ignis' body and Gladio standing over it and have to decide what to do with him. This way he'd still be alive to return to Noct. It was not permanent. He's survive.

Gladio breathed out, hard, a forced exhale that Ignis could feel on the back of his neck. Then he pushed, pressing his hips down, rocking in and out when the friction proved too much, the pressure too tight. Ignis' back arched. The grip on his throat loosened and he wasted his breath on retching, short and shallow gasps that scraped his throat until it felt raw. He coughed, choked, sucked in air then retched some more. Gladio's fingers twitched, tightening fractionally, and Ignis couldn't stop himself whining out a cry in protest. It was interrupted as Gladio's hips rocked, pushing himself into him, hard.

The fingers tightened again. A dagger, any dagger – he sliced at the fingers, breaking open the skin of his own throat and soft underside of his jaw, but at least the grip disappeared. He could feel the heat of the blood as a trail ran down his skin, soaking into the collar of his shirt, but only distantly, because he could breathe, throat bobbing as he sucked in breath after breath, sobbing from nothing but the desperate need of it.

Hands on his hips, the rhythm of thrusts starting to come smoother, short and shallow. With no lubrication except his own spit, already dried, and Ignis' body tightened and twitching in pain, Gladio couldn't push in much further than a few inches. There was warmth on Ignis' thighs; it took him a moment to grasp it was blood.

He closed his eyes, tried to block out everything, but ended up unable to focus on anything but what he wanted to ignore: the weight of his body, the pain inhabiting it, his broken bones, split skin and bruised flesh. The pressure of the tree branch under him, scraping his hips raw. The weight of Gladio on him, hands on his hips, clutching. His knees keeping Ignis' legs apart. Gladio's cock in his arse, like a knife in his guts, tearing him open, smashing the tail of his spine, again and again and again with each grinding thrust. He clutched at the dirt in front of his face, feeling small, sharp rocks and bits of broken root. If Gladio wasn't going to kill him, he could weather it. If he fought back, antagonised Gladio further, then perhaps this would turn lethal after all. He just had to endure it. He could do that. People did this. It couldn't be that bad.

A change in pressure and Gladio pushed down, carried on pushing, forcing himself into Ignis, deeper, harder. Ignis couldn't stop himself twisting, squirming pathetically as he cried out, low and hoarse and slicing agony in his throat. Gladio's fingers dug into his hips, curling around the bones like he wanted to tear them right out of him.

His lance, held at the right angle, jabbed backwards – Ignis' hands itched to take hold of a weapon, but he stopped himself. He didn't need a potion either. He'd endure this. He wouldn't make this scenario any worse than it already was. He could do it. This was just pain, after all.

Gladio's hips jerked, balls slapping Ignis' skin. He grunted as he thrust down hard, and Ignis bucked, his whole body one tight knot of agony. It clenched his ribs, made it hard to breathe. Another thrust and an exhale was forced through Ignis' mouth like it had been slapped out of him: a whining, weak cry, and Ignis clenched his teeth hard, pressing his wrist over his lips.

He'd do this. He was able. He was capable. He'd do this and he would be fine in the end. He just needed to wait for Gladio to come round and he'd take a potion and he'd be fine – he just needed it to stop, and quickly, he'd be fine when it stopped–

Another hard thrust. The pain built with the thrusts, stabbing. Another. Again. It broke some threshold he hadn't known existed; he couldn't will it away or distract himself. It built with each rock of Gladio's hips, again and again and it was too much – he couldn't do it. He needed it to stop. It hurt and it wouldn't be the same any more – the sly smiles he'd shared with Gladio, the teasing that had edged into flirting, both of them seeing it but neither prepared to be the first to point it out. Ruined, now, and it hurt and it hurt and how dare he not even be allowed to have that small, tentative thing.

It hurt and Ignis couldn't stop the way his gasps carried little noises, useless cries he couldn't hold back in his swollen throat. His head was spinning; he retched, spitting out a mouthful of vomit, scalding acid all the way up. He grasped his lance, but Gladio's hand fell on top of his, pinning it to the ground. He tried with his other hand, but Gladio pinned that one as well, and growled his anger. His legs kicked, scuffing at the ground, but uselessly; he couldn't find the strength to push Gladio off him. His spine felt broken, but he twisted anyway, trying to pull sideways. Too weak again. He couldn't do it; resolve was not enough. Desperation wasn't enough. He felt snapped in half, pulverised, his hips and spine beaten and broken. But he needed to get out.

Too weak. Not enough. Gladio released his hands to grasp at his hips, yanking him up, impaling him further. With his hands free he grabbed his lance, but his wild jab back missed Gladio entirely.

Gladio grabbed his upper right arm, twisted and pushed at just the right angle. A crunching noise preceded the pain as Ignis' shoulder dislocated; Ignis screamed.

He couldn't do it – he couldn't – Gladio had his uninjured arm twisted behind his back, wrist on his opposite hip so Gladio could pin it while he held Ignis' hips, and carried on thrusting.

A moment, in agony, where Gladio lost his rhythm, then picked it up but harder. He was panting, and he groaned.

The sensation of wetness inside Ignis, barely discernible above everything else. Gladio let go of Ignis' hips and stood, leaving Ignis lying there, slumped over the tree branch, limp and shivering, retching exhaustedly. For a second he felt achingly empty.

Was it over? Gods, please let it be over.

He couldn't see Gladio, but he could hear him pace behind him, dry leaves getting kicked up with each step. There was grit and bits of broken twig in his mouth, and the taste of dirt and blood and vomit. His right, dislocated arm had stiffened, but with his left he slowly, carefully, pushed himself up.

Gladio stopped pacing. He blew out a harsh breath and stalked towards Ignis; Ignis froze.

His skin itched with the anticipation of pain. He tried to hold his breath, but he couldn't, only fumbling with it and forcing it smaller and tighter and faster. He was panting, but couldn't stop.

Gladio stood just behind him and went silent. The expectation of a sword through his back tore at Ignis. Should he move? He'd never be able to escape, let alone fight back, in this state. But it was better than just lying still and doing nothing.

What would Gladio prefer? To remember killing Ignis by stabbing him in the back, or by cutting him down as he tried to run?

Perhaps if he took a potion, and he could surprise Gladio if he moved quickly enough, he'd be able to escape. Even if Noct found them Ignis would be able to warn him to stay away – and Noct could warp. He was unlikely to get caught once he understood the seriousness of Gladio's condition, if he even found them in the first place.

Gladio decided for him by walking away, heavy, slow footsteps. He started pacing again, never getting too far away. Hand trembling, Ignis relaxed his fingers from where they'd been about to grasp a potion. Instead he pulled his phone from the armiger, unlocking it, half expecting at any moment to drawn back Gladio's attention. Gladio remained the sound of restless pacing behind him. In the chat to Noct, he sent: _Gladio still having trouble with confusion, otherwise we are fine. Will_ _try to_ _meet you at the Regalia_ _soon_ _. Hope_ _you are_ _both_ _well._

The armiger really was an excellent place to store things – it meant he never had to worry about his phone getting crushed, or wet in the rain, or otherwise dirtied or damaged. It also meant that he never heard it, or noticed he had messages or missed calls, until he took it out to have a look. None of them did. Ignis stared dully at the screen, waiting for a response. Nothing came. That probably didn't mean anything.

And now he'd said that everything was fine he couldn't take a potion without Noct suspecting something was wrong. That had been a slight miscalculation.

He'd take one after Gladio snapped out of his confusion. So long as Gladio continued to ignore him, he didn't need a potion. This way he wouldn't draw Gladio's attention, and when he did take that potion he could tell Noct not to worry and they were on their way back at the same time. He'd need to change his clothes, but Noct and Prompto had never been the most observant, so there was every chance they wouldn't notice. And if they did he'd just bluff his way out of it.

His shoulder throbbed. Blackness welled up in his eyes and he blinked hard, taking deep breaths. Not long now. It probably wouldn't be long. How long had Gladio been confused for? Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe. Should be ending soon. He'd need Gladio's help to reset his shoulder before he took the potion. That wouldn't be too bad. Gladio knew how to reset shoulders. He'd done it for Ignis before.

It was fine. It was fine. He bit his tongue, worrying it between his teeth until the tip tore off and filled his mouth with blood. He could feel blood run across his jawline, but his face was numb, and he couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Gladio stopped pacing. He paused, took a step, then stopped again. He let out a choked sound, and his voice was twisted and hoarse. 'Iggy?' he said.

Ignis pushed himself up into kneeling, swallowing to stop himself retching, willing his head to stop spinning and his body to not fail. He closed his eyes as he redid his trousers, and stood. He was swaying, rocking with the push and pull of his own breathing. 'You'll need to set my shoulder for me,' he said, and paused, swallowed again. 'Chop chop, now, Gladio. Noct and Prompto are waiting.'


	2. Chapter 2

They made it two days before Gladio cornered Ignis, standing in front of the open car door to trap him inside.

'Excuse me,' Ignis said, even though he knew it was entirely futile; Noct and Prompto were off at the dock, well out of earshot. He'd known from the start that Gladio would force a private conversation sooner or later, but he'd rather hoped it would be later.

'Listen.' Gladio shifted, clearly uncomfortable with such a low tactic as this, given the circumstances, but then Ignis had made a point of never being alone with him since the incident. He was getting desperate. 'We need to talk.'

'Do we, now.'

'Yes.'

'Very well; let me up first, at least.'

It was a cheap move, but then, Gladio would be a hypocrite to complain. He stepped back to give Ignis room to get out; Ignis got out, locked the car, and walked away.

'Iggy! Come fucking on!' Gladio followed him, close, very almost reaching out to grab Ignis' arm, though he didn't. Which was good, Ignis thought, because he could feel his heart in his throat, and his frayed nerves twitching for him to grasp a dagger. Calm down. This was absurd. Calm down, he told his sweating palms.

'Is there something about movement that prevents you from talking?' They were about a minute away from the dock where he'd left Noct and Prompto. He forced himself not to walk any faster than he already was.

'You know what I meant. You can't just keep avoiding this.'

'Gladio, it's been two days. Please refrain from making it sound like I am the one being unreasonable.'

'Please, Ignis.' Gladio jogged the few steps to stand in front of Ignis – not directly, not blocking his path, but enough that he could catch Ignis' eye. 'Please, at least hear me out. Let me apologise. You don't have to say anything, just – let me apologise.'

It took only a few seconds, a pause to meet Gladio's gaze and hold him there, freeze his feet in the expectation of a conversation. Then Ignis carried on walking. 'Thank you,' he said, 'but no.'

He left Gladio behind, and by the time he reached Noct and Prompto he no longer felt quite so ill.

Gladio waited a week before he tried again.

 

 **Gladio Amicitia** 06:28 – Ignis, I know you want space but us not being able to work together is hurting the group and putting Noctis in danger

 **Gladio Amicitia** 06:28 – I don't expect anything except for you to listen to me. I just want to apologise, you don't have to accept it.

 **Gladio Amicitia** 06:31– Please let me apologise at least.

 

Well, Ignis thought, staring down at his phone. That first text was below the belt, and not true either way. He'd made sure that Noct's safety had not once been compromised, and he was entirely confident Gladio had done the same. And besides, they'd both wordlessly agreed not to get into any very dangerous situations, since that incident. They'd been coasting on the easiest hunts and combat-free jobs available. Noct's safety had never been in question.

He ignored the messages, got up from the chair where he'd been sitting, watching the haven fire – he'd woken hours ago, and hadn't been able to fall back asleep – and started on cooking breakfast. When Gladio emerged from the tent he smiled as he greeted him, knowing that nothing would be said with Noct and Prompto only metres away.

Gladio barely looked at him, but sent another text the day after.

 

 **Gladio Amicitia** 07:02 – Whatever we had before, I get it if it's gone for good, and I don't blame you. But for the sake of our professional relationship we still need to talk.

 

Just reading it made irritation flare through Ignis, though he tamped it down and didn't try to look for the source. He resisted the urge to reply and instead deleted the text.

He didn't _need_ to do anything. Their professional relationship was just fine as it was.

Even after breakfast he was still angry. Angrier than the situation warranted, perhaps. Or perhaps just as warranted; he wasn't quite sure how to determine that sort of thing, in a situation such as this. But warranted or not, he found himself glaring all the way through breakfast and breaking camp, jaw clenched, only barely managing not to snap at Noct and Prompto. He only managed not to snap at Gladio because Gladio kept well out of his way, for once.

Noct and Prompto could tell something was wrong, and spent most of the morning alternating between shooting him and Gladio poorly concealed looks and typing furiously to each other on their phones. If they hadn't known something had happened before, they knew now – though, if Ignis were honest with himself, he'd have to acknowledge that they'd almost certainly have known immediately after it had happened. They were oblivious, sometimes, but they weren't stupid. Noct had known him and Gladio since early childhood, and the smooth functioning of how they worked together formed a considerable part of his everyday life, so of course he'd be perceptive to change. And while Prompto had only known them a bare few years, he'd shown himself to be remarkably sensitive to emotions, particularly negative ones. His eagerness to fit in meant he was rarely not aware of the group's dynamic.

Which was to say, the four of them carried on their activities as usual, of course, and neither he nor Gladio were unprofessional enough to let what had happened affect their duty in protecting, guiding, catering to and caring for Noct. But it was nonetheless impossible to hide the awkwardness between them at camp, or when travelling – the stilted way they kept away from each other, and didn't speak unless they had to. Of course Noct and Prompto had noticed Ignis' sudden short temper, and Gladio's silence, disappearing from camp for hours on end.

It was humiliating, and infuriating for reasons Ignis couldn't pin down. That they knew something had happened – just thinking about it made him burn with shame, even if what had happened was beyond them, and if Ignis had his way, would remain beyond them forever. He would be able to forget as he performed some task or other, only to remember again and become trapped into the agony of the thought. They knew. They _knew._ It was utterly intolerable.

At the very least they tried to be subtle about it. Ignis decided that if he couldn't have them not knowing at all then at least he'd be thankful for that. He regretted that decision when, as the days passed, their ability to hold a straight face and pretend they weren't looking started to fail.

By day fourteen they dropped subtlety entirely. Prompto approached Ignis at lunch as they camped outside Lestallum, on their way in from a long time spent out in the wilds. Noct and Gladio were, conspicuously, absent.

'Iggy! Iggy, my man.' Prompto cocked his hip as he leant against the table, attempting rakish and falling short by a fair margin. 'So, how you doing, up in Iggy land?'

His over-enthusiasm, even by his own standards, betrayed his lack of confidence. He withered under Ignis' stare. 'Very well, thank you,' Ignis said. 'And yourself?'

'Me? I'm good. Good, good. Yup.' He trailed off into a nervous laugh, fidgeting.

'Did you volunteer for this, or did Noct put you up to it?'

'Um.' Prompto froze, presumably trying to weight up his options. 'No?'

'I'm not quite sure that's answering the question,' Ignis said. 'But never mind. To get to what I'm assuming the point is, I apologise if my behaviour has been creating unnecessary tension. I'll try to rein it in.'

'That's not the point,' Prompto said. 'We're worried for you. Something went down and now you and Gladio are acting all weird, and... we're not trying to pry, we just want to know if you're okay or not. Or if we can help.'

'I'm fine.'

Prompto ran his hand through his hair, eyes on a spot on Ignis' shirt, a foot below his face. 'Noct's really freaking out about you. He won't admit it but it's pretty obvious. And... sorry, bringing him into it is pretty unfair, I swear I didn't mean to make it a guilt-trip. Probably why he volunteered to speak to Gladio and left me with you, hah. Um.'

'You really are terrible at this, aren't you.'

'That's my technique. Blindside you with incompetence, get you to drop your guard, then bam–' Prompto punched the palm of his hand for emphasis. 'Your darkest secrets, all mine.'

Ignis smiled, though it felt like an effort.

'So, uh. I guess – there's nothing we can help with, is there?'

'No,' Ignis said, and knew he ought to add something to soften it, but he was tired, and he didn't want to talk about this any more. He felt like there was something delicate inside him, a bubble containing what had happened, and if he paid it too much attention it would break and spill its contents everywhere, for everyone to see, and he'd never be able to put it all back.

Prompto was looking at him, and that too was irritating. He just wanted to be left alone. This was none of Prompto's business.

'Did you need help with the food? Or the route, or, uh, anything?'

'No.' If it'd been Noct he would have bitten out a _thank you_ , but it wasn't. Prompto's crestfallen look didn't help his mood; before they'd got to know each other, years ago, he'd tended to be unfortunately short with Prompto. And after that he'd made a point of putting in the effort to be kinder, partly out of guilt and the desire to make Noct happy, and partly because he'd discovered he did actually like Prompto. Now he just wished he'd go away and stop looking at him like he'd been kicked. It annoyed him. If Prompto hadn't wanted to be rebuked he shouldn't have been so nosy in the first place.

He wondered how Noct and Gladio were getting on, and whether Noct was having more luck with Gladio.

He wondered if Noct was safe, then immediately felt both guilty and cold with fear.

Turning away from Prompto he checked his phone. No new messages. He sent both Gladio and Noct a text telling them to stop wasting time and get back to the camp, then slipped his phone into his pocket so he'd be able to hear a response, if one came. It didn't do anything to soothe the way he felt sick with unease.

'Do you know where they went? Or when they planned on returning?'

'Uh,' Prompto said, from where he was sitting by the haven fire, playing on his phone. 'No, sorry.'

He hadn't meant his exhale to sound quite as harsh as it did; Prompto flinched, and Ignis turned away without apologising.

Noct and Gladio returned shortly after, walking in awkwardly but not uncomfortably. Ignis checked the armiger for missing potions or other curatives. Nothing missing; no injuries on either of them that he could detect, save the scrape Gladio had on his cheek he'd got a few days ago in a fight with imps, already scabbed over and well on its way to healing.

Gladio met his eye – did he realise why Ignis had sent the texts? Even if he did, Ignis told himself, it didn't matter and he wouldn't feel guilty for it. His reasoning was fairly the opposite of unfounded, after all. There was something in Gladio's gaze. Not quite hard, or daring, but pointed.

Had he told Noct what had happened? No – Noct was whispering with Prompto, somewhat aggrieved, somewhat upset, but neither of them looked like they surely would if they'd found out. Good. At least Gladio was good for something, then.

The sentiment lasted until that evening, when Ignis found himself trapped inside his and Noct's motel room in Old Lestallum, Gladio standing in the doorway and blocking it entirely.

He should have realised it was coming; tensions had been high all evening, when they'd realised that to pay for this motel and also rooms in Lestallum they'd need just a bit more money than what they'd get for in their bounties, unless they happened to come across three killer queens on the way, which was vanishingly unlikely. Before, someone probably would have blamed Ignis for getting his accounts wrong, if light-heartedly. Now no one did; Prompto tried his best to laugh it off, as if the idea of yet another night with the four of them in a tent was not torturous, and that was almost worse.

Noct and Prompto were out, having left almost as soon as they'd arrived. Ignis squared his shoulders and let the anger that had been simmering in him come to the boil.

'Move.'

'Not until you let me apologise. That's all I fucking want. To apologise, Iggy. You know I couldn't control myself under confusion. Why are you punishing me like I wanted what happened?'

Ignis' jaw clenched, and he forcefully relaxed it. 'Fine. Apology accepted,' he said. 'Happy?'

The way Gladio's expression turned dumbfounded was almost worth it. 'Are you doing this on purpose? Do you really hate me that much, now?'

'How about you get over yourself? You are, believe it or not, not the centre of the universe.'

'So if not me, what's got your panties in such a godsdamn twist, then?'

'Your failure to understand the difference between a problem's cause and its resolution is astounding.'

'So you admit I caused it, at least. Please, I'm fucking begging you, Iggy, let me apologise. Let me–'

'I have enough on my plate as it is,' Ignis said. It came out a snarl, entirely wrong; he'd meant to be calm. 'I do not exist to make you feel better.'

'That's not what–'

'You want to atone for your crimes, yes. It's unfortunate then because there are no crimes. You said it yourself: you had no control over what happened. We were both, equally, victims of circumstance.'

'Equally? Fuck, Ignis, how can you call what happened equal?'

Ignis took a step forwards, into Gladio's personal space. His heart was racing; the satisfaction of Gladio taking a step back swept through him like a head-rush.

'Ah, so you mean to say that because I took it up the arse I'm automatically the victim in your tidy little narrative? At least I had control of myself; at least I could fight back, not reduced to a slavering, single-minded drone with no ability to choose my own actions. Between the two of us, Gladio, don't you think you were more forced into it than I was?'

Gladio stood there, silent. Ignis realised he was breathing hard, shaking, but he couldn't stop.

'I don't want your apologies,' he said. 'I don't want to absolve you your imagined crimes. I don't want to have to think about how you can make it up to me, and hold your hand to walk you through it. I don't care that you're a victim in this – you are entitled to nothing of me. Not my time, not my emotions, not the effort it takes me to consider your fucking feelings on top of my own. Can you not just leave me be without burdening me with the weight of your guilt complex? I will not let myself be used by you.'

His lip was drawn back, his hands balled into fists. Gladio looked at him as if he'd taken a knife and held it at his throat. Then he narrowed his eyes.

'Well shit, for someone claiming we're equal, you're doing an awful lot of dictating the terms.'

'When my terms require other people to fawn over me and my emotional baggage, then by all means, remind me about inequality.'

He was angry; he couldn't remember the last time he was this angry. He wanted to punch that stupid expression off Gladio's face, knowing that he couldn't even bring himself – he was _too afraid_ – to touch him, and that made him even angrier. His heart was racing; he could feel himself all but vibrate with it.

'I am not your victim,' he said, but the next words wouldn't come, and his mind was blank with gravel and white noise. His chest heaved, but he felt dizzy, not enough air. He shook his head, short, sharp jerks, and was pathetically grateful how it meant that he didn't have to hold Gladio's gaze any more. 'Get out of my way.'

Gladio stepped aside and Ignis left the motel room, but turned the wrong way, cursing himself as he realised his mistake. He just needed to get some fresh air, some space that wasn't the claustrophobic, dirty halls of the motel; he could hear people talking in the rooms, strangers, and he turned back abruptly.

The door to his room was still open. Gladio was sitting on the bed, folded down at the waist, with his elbows on his knees and face pressed to his forearms.

A flush of emotion – Ignis couldn't tell which, but it made his skin prickle; he walked past and hoped he hadn't been noticed. He couldn't think too hard on it. He couldn't risk bursting the bubble and spilling everything. Not now.

By the time he and Noct returned to go to bed, Gladio was gone. They went to bed in silence; Ignis woke three times from anxious dreams, sweat-soaked and heart beating hard.

The next day they arrived at Lestallum, and since they hadn't found the killer queens they didn't have the money to stay. It was simply a matter of cashing in the bounties they had, doing some shopping, and leaving again.

At least, that had been the plan – Noct had wanted to sleep in, and Prompto had joined him in his room, lounging on Ignis' bed. So Ignis left, let his feet direct themselves, and found himself at the food market. Because they weren't staying, even after restocking on curatives – and he'd bought far more than needed, which they all must have noticed, but if it meant they never ran out again let them notice – they still had a fair amount of change. Enough to buy them some nicer ingredients. Stock up on the spices he'd been running low on.

He bought tomatoes – ripe, so he'd have to use them quickly – and eggs, fresh bread, an idea of a recipe coming to him. What did they already have? Peppers, and rice, and they needed more skewer sticks, though where he'd get those from he wasn't entirely sure. Strained yoghurt, and wouldn't it be nice if someone else did the cooking once in a while, or at the very least bought the ingredients for him. He stared at the food laid out on the stalls, baskets and boxes, piled up, fresh and not so fresh. He was tired. It was only late morning but already he wanted to go to bed. He still had to decide which haven was the best to camp at, gather everyone up and drive them there, and cook, and clean, and ignore whatever Gladio or Prompto wanted to bother him with this time, and–

'Sir? Did you need any help?'

Ignis forced a smile, shaking his head at the woman behind the stall. 'Ah, no, thank you. Just thinking of what to cook.

Enough with the pity party. He had a job to do, so he'd do it. That was all there was to it. But why had he gone to the food market? Was he so subconsciously eager for work?

He only wished he wasn't so tired.

He wished he'd let Gladio apologise in the first place. Maybe then they wouldn't be doing this absurd song and dance.

That evening, as Ignis stood in front of the stove at the haven, frowning down at the pan as it heated, Noct sidled up besides him. 'Hey,' he said, and poked at the marinading meat with the tongs. Ignis smacked his hand away before he quite realised what he was doing. The feel of the contact stuck to his skin.

'Good evening, Noct,' he said. 'Please don't touch the food until it's ready.'

Noct looked up at Ignis through his dark eyelashes, a faint smirk playing on his lips, though he dropped his hands to stuff into his pockets. 'Smells good.'

'There's nothing even in the pan yet. Is there a reason you've come to bother me?'

Noct made a non-committal sound, his smile dropping. Ignis sighed. The flush of irritation was there, but worn out, and he brushed it away. 'This is about me and Gladio, isn't it?'

'No. I mean, kind of. I wasn't going to ask what happened, just... thought you might want to talk, or something. About anything. And, ugh, I'm sorry for getting Prompto to bother you. It was my idea. So please don't be mad at him.'

'I'm not,' Ignis said. 'If anything I should apologise for being so rude to him.'

'He's fine. Don't worry, he doesn't hold it against you or anything.'

Ignis glanced up. Gladio was lying in the tent, reading. Prompto was sitting next to him, on his phone, presumably to keep him company.

'Gladio and I... we'll be–' he swallowed the word _fine_ _,_ but struggled for an alternative. 'I just need a little more time. How is he?'

Noct grunted. 'Not so good.' Ignis waited, but he didn't elaborate.

The onions went in the pan, sizzling as they hit the oil. In went sweet paprika, ground cumin, tomato paste, and a liberal amount of chopped red peppers, which Noct scowled at. 'I need time, I think,' Ignis said, quiet enough not to risk being overheard, letting himself speak without planning each word first. 'But every moment I draw it out, Gladio continues to hurt. I know it's selfish of me, but the thought of confronting him...'

The smell of the spices washed over him. 'Pass me that jar? The small one, thank you.' He scooped a couple of spoonfuls into the pan, not really seeing what he was doing. 'Even if I were to, I'm not sure I'm capable of resolving anything. Last time – that was a disaster. I didn't achieve anything except to add insult to injury.'

Noct watched him crush and cut the garlic, stirring it into the mix in the pan. 'So,' Noct said, eventually. 'I don't know what happened, and maybe this is terrible advice. But you're always looking out for other people, and never yourself, so if it's at the point where you're actually being selfish I'm pretty sure it's for good reason. Gladio's not doing great, but he's an adult. If it's a choice between either dealing by himself or making it worse for you, I think he'll just have to learn to deal.' He looked at Ignis through hooded eyes, half embarrassed to hold Ignis' gaze, half determined. 'You're hurting too. And that matters just as much. If you need time and space, then you should take it, and not feel bad about it.'

Ignis looked away, back to the pan. He remembered, suddenly, the memory like a lump in his throat, that it had been for Noct's sake he'd drawn Gladio away in the first place.

'You've grown up and become wise,' he said, voice thick. He swallowed. 'It's good to see my efforts on you were not entirely wasted.'

A huff of surprised laughter; Noct elbowed him, gently, in the side. He froze as Ignis stiffened at the contact, starting to lean away.

Ignis put down the spoon he'd been stirring the pan with. 'Noct,' he said. 'Could I ask you a favour?'

'... Yes?'

'I know this is an unusual request, only – would it be possible for a hug?'

Noct stared at him just long enough for Ignis to regret asking. 'If you'd rather not, I understand,' he said, at the same time Noct said: 'You're such a fucking nerd, Specs.'

He opened his arms, moving slowly as if he thought Ignis were a spooked animal. They hadn't hugged in a very long time, Ignis thought, and there was a moment of awkwardness over where to place his arms – above Noct's, or below? – and then again as their shoulders touched and they paused with space still between them.

'Gods,' Noct said, 'you're awful at this.' He moved his arms to wrap around Ignis' waist, and tugged him in until they were pressed together, chest and hips and thighs, and Noct lifted his chin to rest on Ignis' shoulder.

Warmth between them. The pressure of Noct's arms around him, and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, not quite in time with Ignis. 'I, ah, I didn't know you were the expert,' Ignis said, and felt Noct's belly move as he laughed.

'Compared to you, anyone would be.'

It had been for Noct that he'd done it.

The hug was – it was nice. He let his arms loop around Noct's upper back, leaning his head to rest against Noct's head. Noct's hair tickled his cheek and the soft skin under his jaw. The pressure of Noct' body, lean muscle, wiry strength, was an anchoring weight against his own. He could smell Noct – his hair products, the detergent of his clothes, the scent of his skin.

Noct was safe. Noct was here, holding Ignis. Because of his efforts, Noct was here.

Noct. Ignis' heart ached, feeling swollen in his chest, almost enough to be painful. He adored Noct. He loved him fiercely and unconditionally. He would repeat what had happened a dozen times over if it meant keeping Noct safe.

'Thank you,' he said, the words sticking in his throat. 'Noct.'

Then he pulled away, returning to stir the pan where the peppers were sticking, and added in the tomatoes with his hands on autopilot. He was aware that Noct was still looking at him but couldn't quite bring himself to meet his eyes.

'Any time,' Noct said. 'You know that, right?'

'I'll endeavour to keep it in mind.'

Noct smiled at him, but didn't say any more. So much of their time had been spent in silence, each of them focused on their own work, or play, or simply being, years and years of it, that the wordlessness that fell was immediately comfortable – more familiar than the heft of his kitchen knives, easier by far than their tentative conversation. He could still feel the impression of Noct's body pressed to his own, and still smell the scent of him. His presence made Ignis' heart thump fondly; his eyes on Ignis' hands made Ignis dot the kitchen station with vegetables he had no intention of actually adding to the meal, not having to look to know the expression of disgust on Noct's face, and smile inwardly. But he knew that as nice as it was, Noct's watching over him was not conducive to thinking hard, or very seriously, or being as strict on himself as he knew he needed to be. He shooed Noct away on the basis that he was getting in the way of the cooking, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Noct retreated back to his chair and phone.

With Noct gone the feeling of adoration faded, and something else, colder and more analytical – critical – crept in to replace it. He frowned at the tomato, welcoming that new feeling.

Noct's advice was all well and good, but it did assume that he was being selfish in order to work on healing himself, or at the very least preparing himself to heal. In reality, he was – what? Stalling? He didn't want to deal with it, so he simply wasn't. He was being selfish for no particular reason. Noct's kindness didn't apply, in that case.

The memory of being pinned down, and agony – and shame now colouring the whole thing, until he burnt with it. Noct thought he was functioning so much better than he was. His faith was well-intentioned, earnest, and kind, but ultimately misplaced.

The sting of underperformance, catching up with him. The feeling that if he poked too hard the bubble containing it all would burst and spill everywhere, and the thought made him queasy, heart racing. He didn't like losing his temper. He didn't like losing control over anything, himself least of all. But he was sick of feeling like he was.

He'd done it for Noct, and here Noct was – healthy, and happy, except for how he worried about Ignis and Gladio. He'd kept Noct safe. He'd succeeded.

The bubble inside him trembled.

Ignis put the lid on the pan, turned off the heat, and covered the meat. It was a chilly day; it would be fine until he got back. He ignored Noct lifting his head to watch him from where he lounged on one of the chairs, and went over to the tent.

'Gladio. A word, if you would?'

Gladio looked at him, then put away his book and got to his feet. They left camp, and Ignis pretended not to feel Noct's eyes on his back.

They walked for about thirty seconds, then stopped. Ignis looked back, and could see Prompto where he'd got out of the tent and was sitting by Noct's feet. Both their faces were angled towards them, but turned away when they realised Ignis was looking.

He could make it back easily. There was virtually no chance of a daemon sneaking up on them. Noct was safe; he could see that he was safe.

Gladio wasn't speaking. Ignis cleared his throat, glancing at him, though keeping the haven in sight over Gladio's shoulder. 'I want to apologise,' he said, 'for how I've been treating you these last couple of weeks.'

Gladio smiled humourlessly and looked away. 'No, I get it. It was wrong of me to keep pushing.' He sounded exhausted. 'I was just so desperate to feel better, y'know?'

'If you still wanted to apologise, you can now.'

Gladio snorted a soft exhale of laughter. 'Sure. I'm sorry, Iggy. For everything.'

The words didn't change anything. There was no revelation, no epiphany, no tides or anger or relief.

'I know,' he said. 'I am as well.' He caught the look Gladio sent him. 'You were confused. It was out of your control entirely. But if I'd been faster, or fought better, or decided on a stronger tactic, perhaps none of it would have happened in the first place.'

A pause, then Gladio shrugged. 'Perhaps,' he said. He ran his fingers through his hair and pretended not to notice Ignis flinching back at the motion of his hand. 'Things'll work out eventually. Noct's still our priority.'

'Indeed.'

What else was there to say? Ignis waited, but Gladio had lapsed back into silence, and he wanted to be back at the haven, cooking. He was tired; he wanted to sleep. Stepping back, Ignis made to move around Gladio and return to where Noct and Prompto were waiting.

'Iggy.' He stopped. They stood in silence for a long moment, until Gladio said, 'I figured I should say – I'd wanted more with you for a while, I guess. I'm pretty sure that's why I raped you.'

Ignis nodded, once, too tired to do much more. The bubble had popped, he realised dully, and it turned out there hadn't been anything inside it at all. 'For what it's worth,' he said, 'I'd wanted more, too.'

'Yeah.' Gladio sighed, and turned back to the haven. 'Yeah.'


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, as Ignis did a final check over the campsite for anything they might have forgotten, Noct walked with him.

'So,' he said, as Ignis dutifully slowed to let the moment stretch out. 'You know I wasn't trying to reverse psychology you into talking with him, right?'

Ignis glanced at him. He could make it into a joke about Noct's ability to manipulate an opponent, but perhaps now wasn't the best time. 'Of course.'

'Good. Because that'd be shitty of me, and... yeah, I just wanted to make sure.'

'Noct,' Ignis said, 'I have nothing but the utmost confidence you were speaking not just in earnest but from a place of true well meaning.'

Noct snorted, looking away. 'Come on, Specs. Knock it off with the cheese.'

Ignis patted him on the shoulder, then went to get in the Regalia. Noct followed.

As the days passed, Ignis tried to tell himself things had returned to normal, more or less. He and Gladio had finally talked, and apologised, and he no longer felt the pressure to do so hanging over him, oppressive, ever-there. He no longer had to watch Gladio, waiting for him to pounce in a moment of weakness or solitude, feeling the weight of his gaze on him and dreading any moment their eyes met.

So – it was fine. He still avoided being alone with Gladio, though it wasn't quite as pressing as before, and they didn't speak much beyond what was necessary. The atmosphere between all four of them was strained, a little – even Prompto was subdued. But it was better, and surely it'd keep getting better from here. So long as they were capable of supporting Noct, and no one got in any true danger – or at least none that could be avoided to the best of their abilities – it was fine. He and Gladio had finally spoken and it was fine between them. Gladio did not, in fact, hate him for his weakness. Gladio knew that he did not hate him for his weakness.

And if he spent a little too much time guarding Noct, and putting himself equally between Noct and the enemy and Noct and Gladio, and directing Gladio into the fight away from Noct, then it was all still within acceptable boundaries of keeping Noct safe. If half-way through battle his heart started pounding for no reason, and head began spinning, and claws of panic dug in his chest, squeezed and squeezed until he was absolutely sure Noct was safe, away from harm, away from Gladio– 

If Gladio noticed, he didn't say anything. No one did. 

If anyone noticed there were few nights Ignis didn't wake at least once or twice, panting for breath, sweat prickling on his skin, the need to fight, protect, screaming in him, they didn't say anything.

Ignis couldn't tell if they were being kind or simply unobservant, and that rankled the most.

He chose to believe they were being kind. One morning, when they went to get into the Regalia, Noct took the drivers' seat. Neither Gladio nor Prompto commented, but Gladio took shotgun. Were they trying to be kind? Ignis got into the back seat, behind Noct. He knew they knew he disliked other people driving. He disliked it even when the other people were by all accounts good, safe drivers, and Noct was neither of those things. But the silent confidence that this all happened with meant it had to be pre-planned, rather than Noct deciding he wanted to drive on a whim, and Noct wouldn't plan anything to be cruel. So: he meant well. Ignis would, therefore, play along.

The soft noise of Noct and Prompto talking about a King's Knight spin-off, seguing to other mobile games, and the console games they missed the most, filled the car like a blanket. Ignis was asleep five minutes into the journey.

Ignis startled into waking, not from a nightmare – his dream had been nonsensical, disappearing the moment he woke – but the motion of the car was foreign to his half-asleep mind, and his eyes shot open with the dizzying, horrifying idea that he'd fallen asleep at the wheel.

Reality settled over him, though his heart continued to race. He sat back and smiled at Prompto, and tried not to let it bother him how unconvincing it must be.

'Hey,' Prompto said. 'We're gonna have to hand over your specs and kitchen knives over to that guy replacing you up front. You get a fishing rod and some cosplay stuff in return, though.'

'Ha,' Noct said, before Ignis could quite manage to think up a reply. 'Like I'm gonna let anyone get their hands on my things.'

'I believe my hands were already on them when I helped sew them,' Ignis said, mildly, and reached up to brush his hair back from where it was falling in his face. Prompto laughed, a sudden, sharp burst.

'Really? Oh, man, I can't believe he actually did them himself. I mean, got you to do them and not, like, commission a professional or something.'

'Specs is good at sewing,' Noct said. 'Might as well have been a professional.'

'Not to mention the attention that sort of commission would have garnered,' Ignis said. 'Hardly scandalous, but perhaps not quite fitting in with how Noct's PR team want him acting.' He glanced at Gladio, who should have jumped in at the chance to mock Noct's more nerdy pastimes, but who was sitting, reading silently, as if they weren't talking around him.

Prompto was laughing, but the casual lightheartedness that had filled Ignis' chest was gone, and he couldn't muster up the effort to smile with him, much less carry on the conversation. He turned to look out of the window, ignoring the way Noct turned to swat at Prompto. Trees lined the road, of a variety he didn't recognise, thin and narrow and with long, slender leaves.

The day after that Noct got the driver's seat, and again, Ignis found himself dozing off in the back. It was probably for the best. He was tired, and tiredness made for unsafe drivers. Perhaps it was good that Noct stepped up and took control. He'd have to cook something particularly good tonight, though, to prove he hadn't become completely useless.

He woke some indeterminable time later. Gladio had his book on his lap, though it was closed. As soon as he noticed Ignis sitting upright, he opened it. Ignis combed his hair with his fingers, arched his back to stretch, and pretended not to have seen.

'How long have we been travelling for?' he asked.

'Uh, two hours? Should be there soon.' Noct shifted, eyes on the road, hands moving to the 10-2 position on the wheel from where he'd had one resting lazily on top and the other dangling out the window.

Ignis thought that there should be some kind of reaction in him to that, only there wasn't. He could reply to what Noct said, but he didn't. It hadn't been a question, and there wasn't anything particularly valuable to say, besides. He'd already briefed them on this particular expedition, this potential tomb deep in some underground ruins. It was more dangerous than anywhere they'd ventured in a long time. He could feel his nerves already jangling, mind trying to run through their inventory of curatives, counting and recounting each type, double checking again and again just in case.

They could manage. They were strong enough. Perhaps this was the first step back to things being truly normal.

They had smelling salts. Maiden's kisses. Potions, yes. Smelling salts? Yes.

The air looked damp through the window. Even though it was approaching noon the ground was still wet with yesterday's rain.

Inside the ruins, down two flights of slippery, cracked stone stairs, their first group of enemies showed themselves. Flan, and, attracted by the commotion, hecteyes.

'Gladio!' Ignis summoned his lance. 'Keep the flan off our backs. Noct, Prompto; let's clear these as swiftly as possible!'

The strategy worked. The hecteyes were killed before they could do any real damage, leaving them free to finish off the flan at a more leisurely pace. Which was why Ignis called to follow the same strategy ten minutes later, when they came across the second lot of daemons.

Which was why Gladio was far behind them when three red giants appeared, seemingly from nowhere. One swung its sword; Noct warped out of the way, Ignis sprinting after him. The sound of metal on rock, and rock grinding against rock, quiet at first then rising to a screech.

He felt the ground shift under his feet before he comprehended what was happening. Then he understood; he covered his head with his arms and ran.

Noct could warp, he thought, as he tripped on the sinking floor. He hit his shoulder hard on the way down, rolling down a slope where seconds before had been flat ground. Noct would be fine. Prompto?

Picking himself up, Ignis turned to look behind himself even as he scrambled his way to solid, level ground. Where was Prompto? Where was Noct? Dust and gravel fell from the ceiling; chunks of rock as large as watermelons hit the floor in explosions of needle-sharp stone. Gladio was shouting but he couldn't hear the words.

'Noct!' There was a hole in the floor, a huge, gaping blackness. There was a hole in the floor and he couldn't see Noct or Prompto anywhere.

Something slammed into his shoulder from above. Pain; he clutched his arm to his chest, tripping on rubble and falling to his hands and knees as he turned back towards the collapsed floor. Dust hung so thick in the air he could feel it stick in his throat, clogging up his lungs, getting into his eyes and making them water. 'Noct!'

A crash beside him, the sound of rock breaking itself open; Ignis rolled away, instinctive. He couldn't. His upper body twisted, his hands scrabbling at the ground. Then the pain arrived, and Ignis wasn't quite sure if he screamed or not, only that he was in agony – his leg, his whole body in agony, curled around the rock that pinned his leg to the ground, crushing it flat and broken.

He was still clawing at the rock, giant and immovable, when Gladio appeared, coughing and spluttering. 'Fuck,' Gladio said. 'Fuck. Where'd they go?'

The words didn't penetrate. His leg was on fire, consuming, and he struggled but it only made it worse, and his stomach curled and he was gagging and sobbing for breath and each motion only made it worse. Moving made it worse but he couldn't not struggle.

Time passed. The rock did not move. The pain did not lessen. He stopped struggling. His hands were numb. His body twitched involuntarily, each split-second struggle like an axe blow, half-hearted amputation. He was cold, curled up on his side, remaining leg tucked up against his stomach.

When he managed to look up, he was alone.

The dust settled. The red giants were gone, down the same hole Noct and Prompto had fallen through, and Gladio gone as well. Ignis panted and tried unsuccessfully to restrain the noises creaking out with each wet exhale. He reached out with shaking hands and traced the rock crushing him. Curatives could fix him but only once the rock was off and his leg had the space to reform. As his fingers followed the base of the rock they brushed against something wet and hot. Squashed flesh burst from its skin. Ground flesh wrapped up in rags, pressed flat to the floor like hamburger meat. Ignis pulled his hand away. He clawed at the ground, unable to feel the splinters of rock he could see slice into the pads of his fingertips. He gripped his face in his hands, digging his nails in, trying to feel anything other than the pulsing, consuming agony of his ruined leg.

It occurred to him, as he failed to bite back a crawling, gravel cry, that were any more daemons to come now he'd be utterly helpless against them.

It occurred to him that Noct, Prompto and Gladio might be dead. Or they might be still alive but soon to be dead. He ground his face against the floor, pushing his forehead into the sharp splinters of stone that coated it. 'Noct,' he heard himself say. He wheezed, choking on his own saliva and pain. 'Noct. Noct.'

He was so very cold. The floor was warm, and it took a moment to grasp that it was because he was lying in hot, red liquid, spilling out from under the rock, crawling across the floor along the lines of his body. His hands dipped in it. It soaked into his clothes and hair. His heart was beating fast, shallow; his breath was thready.

Ignis closed his eyes. His body convulsed, then again in response to the pain that tore through him. He gagged. Acid burnt up his throat, over his tongue, to dribble and drip down his face. 

He was cold. His heartbeat seemed very far away.

Noct. Was Noct alive, unharmed? He had Gladio with him, and Prompto as well. Gladio could take care of him. Noct should be fine.

There was something he was forgetting. Ignis felt himself move to paw at the rock, fingers not working properly to grip or push with any real strength. Noct would be fine if he had Gladio with him.

Then he remembered: oh.

No. No. No, no, no – he couldn't let him. He couldn't let him hurt Noct. Not Noct – anyone but Noct–

He pushed again at the stone, searching out different angles, trying to see if it could be rolled if lifting was impossible. His hands left smeared blood on the cracked, pale surface. It would not roll. The rock itself was not so large, but trapped beneath it he had no leverage, no strength left, no tools to aid him. He could barely think clearly through the agony, much less move with strength and purpose.

Was Noct yet unharmed? What about Prompto, and Gladio? What if Gladio – what if Noct–

Ignis pulled his phone from the armiger, but his fingers were nerveless, coated in blood. He couldn't feel anything through them; they might as well have been moulded from plastic. He fumbled with his phone; even holding up up was an effort. His arms shook. He couldn't type in the passcode; his thumbprint wasn't recognised. It took a while to remember they couldn't get signal down in these ruin anyway. 

Maybe if he cut off his leg he'd be able to take a curative. Taking one now, with his leg still beneath the rock – he wasn't entirely sure what would happen, but the foggy memories of lectures on healing magic, of healing when there was still a foreign object in the wound, told him it was a bad idea. To cut off his leg and then heal – it would leave him crippled but at least he'd survive. At least it would stop the pain.

He didn't want to be crippled. He wouldn't be able to help Noct crippled. He wouldn't even be able to stay with him.

If the others didn't arrive very soon, he wouldn't live long enough to help, leg or no leg. He'd be more help, even only fractionally so, alive than dead. And he didn't want Noct mourning him. He didn't want Noct to have to lose anyone else. And it hurt so very much. It would stop the pain.

He could barely grasp his dagger. Moving to have a better angle was like knives through his spine, slicing up through his thigh, hips, scoring deep into his organs. He moved, curling forwards, grasping at the upper thigh of his trapped leg.

He'd have to either slice through the thick bone of his upper thigh, or try to reach under the rock and cut where the bone had already shattered and would provide less resistance. His hand slipped; his dagger slid into the flesh of his leg, a long, shallow cut. The groan that fell from his mouth was trembling, wet and weak. His hand was shaking harder and harder. He couldn't manage to lift himself to see what he was doing. The blood pumping from his thigh was hot on his prickling skin.

Letting the dagger be guided by the edge of the rock, he tried again. The blade sunk into the flesh of his leg, just above the knee, sliding through it with little resistance. It parted the flesh, reached the bone, and got stuck.

The dagger fell from his hands, tugging free from his leg and clattering to the floor. He couldn't hear himself, but the vibration in his throat suggested, he thought distantly, he was not being silent. He was kicking, pushing at the stone with his right leg, twisting and struggling and it hurt like dying and it didn't shift the rock in the slightest.

He couldn't find his dagger. His hands would not cooperate. Time stretched out as he tried again and again to reach for his dagger. He couldn't feel anything in his hands – not the blood, not the sharp pieces of stone surrounding him, not the blade of his dagger as he finally found it, and tried to wrap his fingers around but couldn't. He was panting for breath but it felt like his lungs were being crushed as well as his leg. He couldn't get enough air. He was cold and in pain. He'd failed even in this and what if Noct needed him? What if Noct was needing him right this moment and his body was filled with pain and pain and he was trapped and–

Hands on his face, under his arms, pulling him straight. Light shining into his eyes. Voices, though he couldn't tell what they were saying.

The weight lifted from his leg. His body dragged across the floor. The swell of magic inside him, prickling energy, healing. The unbearable feeling of no pain where there ought to be.

Ignis rolled over onto his hands and knees; his whole body was shaking, hard. He looked up, drinking in the sight of all three of them, alive, unharmed. 'Noct,' he said, but his voice was a croak and his body wouldn't stop shaking. He was fine. They were all fine. Gladio had protected them after all.

Gladio passed a water bottle to Noct, who all but snatched it from him before kneeling down in front of Ignis, twisting off the cap and offering it to him. His eyes were wet, Ignis noticed, as he sat back to take the water and drink.

It was hard to hold the bottle up to his lips – water spilt down his chin, but his face was covered in blood and he needed to wash anyway. His hair was sticking to his skin, spiked with drying blood. His clothes were soaked, tacky, stinking. When he tried to get to his feet, his left leg, the one that had been crushed, collapsed under him.

Noct caught him, lowering him back to his knees. 'I'll be fine,' Ignis said, voice a thin rasp. His leg ached with the absence of pain, hollow and trembling and agonisingly unwilling to do what he needed it to do. The bottle fell from his hand to the floor with a clatter and splash.

'Not to rush you guys, but, uh, we need to get out.' Prompto still had a gun in his hands, shifting from foot to foot. His face was paler than usual. He had a streak of blood on his jawline, but it didn't seem like his own. There was the distant sound of groaning, creaking rock, something smashing as it hit the floor from a height.

Stumbling up again, Ignis made it two steps before his leg buckled. The sound of frustration tore through his throat, on his hands and knees, heart pounding, his head dizzy and spinning with blood loss. 'I can't,' he said, and didn't need to finish before Gladio was in front of him.

A split-second pause – their eyes met. Gladio held out his arms, not yet touching Ignis' body, waiting. Ignis nodded, terse.

The careful grip, the swoop and swing as he was lifted and Gladio pulled him to his chest even as he started to run, made Ignis' head spin sickeningly. His eyes slammed shut, lips pressed closed, trying to swallow down the way his stomach clenched hard and vomit crawled up his throat. His leg still buzzed in the bright anticipation of agony that didn't come.

The sunlight outside scorched his eyes. Gladio slowed; he was breathing hard – Ignis could feel the inhale and exhale movement of his chest, hear the harsh sound of it above him. He opened his eyes to squint and find the shape of Prompto a little way ahead of them, standing by the Regalia. Noct was walking by Gladio's side. Their eyes met for a moment and Noct offered him a hesitant smile, lingering fright written all over his face.

Ignis attempted one back, but his eyes drifted closed, and he didn't see how Noct received it.

Blood loss and shock was Gladio's prognosis, crouching outside the open car door as Ignis slumped in the passenger side seat, too focused on his head that would not stop pounding to mind the proximity. He'd been able to change his clothes and wash with a few bottles of water, but he could still feel stickiness, flaking and itching across his body. Blood mixed with dust, dried and caked to his skin. Blood loss and shock and perhaps, Gladio added after a long moment, like he didn't want to, some damage to the knee, given it had been shattered for not short amount of time before being healed.

'Is it permanent?' Ignis didn't mean to ask, but after the words came out, he couldn't fault them. Better to know than be held in suspense.

'No,' Gladio said, immediately. Then he added: 'Shouldn't be. At worst you'll need some PT and to keep out of action for a while. Or best case, could just be weak from the healing and should clear up in a couple of days.'

'Ah,' Ignis said. 'How long is a while, in the worst case scenario?'

No reply. 'Gladio,' Ignis said. 'How long?'

Gladio blew out a harsh breath. 'Shit. I don't know. I'm sorry. A month or two until it's completely better? Half a year – a couple of years but that case was worse than–'

'Indeed,' Ignis said. 'And Noct is still recovering, ten years on.'

He didn't open his eyes, even when a hand rested on his arm then was snatched back. 'Let's just go,' Ignis said. 'We can assess the situation properly tonight.'

The drive back was in silence – at least, that Ignis was conscious through. He drifted in and out of sleep, uneasy and fitful, expecting each time to wake with his leg broken into so much crushed meat and shattered bone.

Sitting there, in silence, the thought returned to him that Gladio had left him to protect Noct, and Noct had returned, safe, and it had been none of Ignis' doing at all. He held the thought in his hands, not quite sure what to do with it. It felt very large. Full of weight, significance, and the promise to change things considerably.

He hobbled to their motel room on his own, the thought slung over his back where he couldn't see it but couldn't escape its weight either, and did not let himself look at Gladio's face as he forced his uncooperative, stiff leg to work. Bend, move forwards, don't let his full weight rest on it. Catch himself with a hand on the grimy wallpaper when he listed too far to the side. Try not to drag his foot along the ground like it was completely dead, but when he did, pretend he didn't. He got himself into the shower and tried to tamp down on just how grateful he was as the hot water washed the blood and dust from him. He dried himself on the scratchy towel and dressed, gratefulness turning to irritation at himself for the way disappointment crawled up him as his knee started throbbing again, stiff and aching once out of the hot water. He did his hair and told himself he was being ridiculous. When he emerged from the bathroom, as dressed and dignified as he could manage, they all looked up at him.

Sitting on the bed, trying to ignore how Noct got up to sit close besides him, Ignis let Gladio squeeze his knee, feeling the swell of muscle, the lines of his tendons, the angles of the joints he could bend and extend to. 'Tell me if it gets too much,' Gladio murmured, and Ignis ground his teeth together and couldn't help his harsh pride as he performed each guided stretch to its fullest without having to stop.

When he closed his eyes and breathed out, very carefully, as Gladio's hands reached his upper thigh, Noct pressed in close enough their shoulders bumped.

Then Gladio removed his hands and waved Ignis over to stand in the middle of the room, directing him to shift his weight from foot to foot, do this stretch, turn that way. Gladio knelt in front of him, hands returning, hot through the fabric of Ignis' trousers. His face remained expressionless. Professional. 'Noct,' Ignis said, tamping down on the hiss as he crouched and very nearly toppled over. He righted himself with a hand on Gladio's shoulder, gripping hard for a moment before letting go, then stood and crouched again. Stood and crouched, and stayed crouching when Gladio failed to direct him otherwise. 'Please don't worry. I'll be fine.'

'And he's right.' Gladio stood and looked, for a split second, like he was going to offer Ignis a hand up. Then he backed away, slumping down in one of the chairs. 'Can't find any real damage, just weakness from the potion not getting to you quick enough. Should be fine in a couple of weeks. Basic stretches and exercises; I can help but you know the drill already.'

There should have been relief there; there wasn't. Ignis nodded. He felt tired, sore, and instead of sitting down like he wanted to he went to the kitchen and placed a few cans of Ebony in the fridge. Another two weeks of keeping out of the big hunts and more dangerous quarry would eat into their savings to an unpleasant degree. They'd have to start cutting back, and seriously so. There was something else there, too, but slippery and remaining out of his grasp for the moment. 'Thank you,' he said.

To save money they'd booked only one room. The Zzz-motel chain didn't deal in luxuries, and easy privacy was one such luxury they were going without.

'Noct, Prompto,' Ignis said. 'Would you mind heading downstairs to find us something to eat? I want to speak to Gladio in private for a moment.'

Gladio didn't look particularly enthusiastic, and Noct sat forwards, elbows on his knees, staring at him with narrowed eyes. 'Uh, sure, no problem,' Prompto said, breaking the silence. He stood and grabbed Noct by the sleeve, tugging him up and out of the room.

'Ignis,' Gladio said as soon as the door closed, and Ignis made a motion to keep quiet, a finger over his lips. The walls were paper thin and there was no doubt Noct would be trying to listen in, at least before Prompto managed to get him far enough down the hall that eavesdropping was impossible. 'Iggy,' Gladio said again, a harsh whisper this time. 'Shit. I–'

'Thank you.' Ignis sat, then got up again. The more he stretched and exercised his leg, however gentle, the sooner it'd be back in working order. He limped to one end of the room, glancing out of the window, then limped back again. 'For going with Noct, I mean.'

Gladio was watching him warily, as if he expected a verbal trap instead of a thanks. The sight made Ignis laugh. 'Don't look so worried. It's not a trick.'

'Crap, Iggy. You know I saw you were gonna die crushed like that. You almost did die, and it would've been my fault.'

'But I didn't. What did you tell Noct and Prompto?'

Gladio shook his head, eyes on the floor. 'Just that I didn't see you. Fuck, the time we wasted down the bottom of that hole 'cause Noct insisted you'd follow us down, then when the whole fucking thing fell in so Noct couldn't even warp back up–'

His voice was thick. He pressed a hand to his mouth. 'Don't know what I was thinking. I thought, maybe it wasn't so bad as it looked. I thought, you were tough, of course you'd... but I left you to die. I left you half fucking crushed to death in a daemon infested pit – you tried cutting off your own leg, didn't you? You actually tried cutting off your own fucking leg–'

Silence, as Gladio's voice caught and strangled itself. Ignis let him swallow it back under control, breathing hard. 'And now,' Gladio said, 'When I thought your knee was busted and you'd have to sit out permanently, get left behind every time we went somewhere dangerous – last couple of months and I almost killed you twice. I can't do a third time. I really fucking can't, Iggy.'

'The first time I wasn't in risk of dying.'

'Right, yeah, I just broke your face, broke your shoulder, beat you, held you down and raped you, no biggie. You weren't ten minutes from being dead like this afternoon, so it's cool.'

Ignis shook his head. 'We went over this. You weren't in control of yourself.'

'And a fat lot of good that did you.'

'It did me no lasting damage either. This afternoon you left me to go to Noct, whom you swore to protect. We had no idea what danger Noct was in. Of course following him was the correct choice.'

'Sometimes,' Gladio said, 'sometimes, fuck the correct choice.'

He didn't look up at Ignis, but stared belligerently down at the threadbare carpet. He knew he was in the wrong, then, which was good, because Ignis wasn't sure he had the energy for an argument.

'That's not like you to say,' he said anyway, and Gladio snorted.

'I know. And I know you're not gonna look after yourself more, whatever I got to say about it.'

'Not if it means detracting from my care of Noct, no.'

'Yeah, thought as much. Crap, I'm meant to be his Shield and here I am asking you to put him in danger so my own godsdamn feelings don't get hurt. Dad'd be spinning in his grave, if he had one.'

Ignis' knee had started to throb. He stretched his leg, running through warmup exercises as familiar as breathing. 'Don't be so harsh on yourself,' he said, eventually. 'We're all human. And nothing you've done thus far has been anything less than following your duty, regardless of doubt or regret.'

'Sure. Sure. I just – don't you get so fucking mad, sometimes? That everything you have to do in life prioritises that brat, that you have to let–'

'Gladio.'

A pause. 'Right,' Gladio said, with a mirthless grin.

'I was just about to thank you. Don't make me decide not to.'

Gladio looked up at him, then, as if for the first time realising he was alone with him, speaking frankly with him, like they hadn't since that night by the haven, weeks ago.

'Thank you, Gladio, for protecting Noct.'

Their eyes met as Ignis sat down on the bed. Gladio laughed. 'Sure,' he said, though Ignis doubted he understood how he'd meant it, when he himself could hardly grasp the feeling of looseness, and relief, bubbling up in his chest. 'It's my job, after all.'


	4. Chapter 4

To save money Noct drove them to the Vesperpool haven – Ignis decided on it for its proximity to a good fishing spot, meaning he could have Noct distracted while also keeping him more or less within sight – where they set up camp. No one asked how long they'd be staying for, but Prompto silently unpacked half his belongings in the way he only did when they knew they were not going to be moving again for a while.

The next morning, as Ignis picked his way out of the tent over scattered clothes and electronics, he supposed this was his cue to both settle in and try not to assume they were resenting him for it. They very probably weren't; his own resentment no doubt made up the vast majority of what bad feeling there was, hanging over the haven like rainclouds.

The morning was nice: the weather was nice. They had food and curatives and entertainment. Relaxation would do them good, forced or not. The next week or two would not be so bad.

The following week passed with agonising, aching slowness. Ignis did his stretches every morning, getting up before the others woke to go through the dull, painful routine and let the frustration of his knee being stiff, weak, damn near useless, wash through him. He cooked breakfast and did more stretches afterwards, letting Gladio watch him as if he were a novice whose form needed correcting. He allowed Gladio to help him when he needed extra hands, and Prompto washed up after meals without having to be asked. He lay on the floor while Gladio knelt behind him and massaged his leg until his teeth were bared from the pain and masochistic pleasure of it, and he could be distracted from the way Noct was staring at them from the other side of the fire.

How much did he know? Or, if not know, suspect?

By day six Ignis could admit to himself there was a notable improvement, at least. He would heal; he wouldn't have to be left behind. He would not delay and inconvenience Noct as much as he'd feared he would – though that was hardly a compliment, given how much he'd already delayed and inconvenienced him, and would continue to do so for another week at least. But his knee finally allowed him to spar with Gladio, if tentatively, and pace the uneven terrain around the haven to look for chocobo parsley, which he took the tender stems of to steam and toss in butter and black pepper to serve with the fish Noct caught for him. He and Noct spent a day exploring further out, finding a copse of trees draped in honeysuckle, which Noct warped to retrieve and Ignis brought back to make syrup with. He found wild bilberries, bushes of them, which became jars of jam he pushed into the armiger with careless resignation, knowing they'd be forgotten about very shortly. He ignored how his leg seized and cramped to clamber over tree stumps and look for morels and early custard mushrooms, the name of which he could never quite remember whether was after the dessert or the daemon.

He sat and read news articles on his phone while Gladio did set after countless set of pushups, sit ups, squats and crunches, shirtless and sweating. He let himself look, occasionally, but whatever coil of excitement, desire and flushed anticipation that had turned in him before was gone. Instead he was left with unease, which lead to disappointment, irritation, a prickling humiliation that got shoved down, squeezed tight and shut away. Never mind, he told himself. If this was the only thing they'd lost they could count themselves exceedingly lucky.

At night he slept refreshingly well, given that the days without showers and proper beds were adding up. Noct curled up by him in the tent, so close as almost to be right on top of him, and most nights Ignis ending up having to roll him away once asleep to stop them both overheating. Noct spent less time fishing than Ignis had assumed he would, or perhaps hoped, given how eager he usually was for that particular activity. The four of them didn't play cards together, either; Gladio had put the pack somewhere in the armiger with the rest of his belongings, where Ignis did not want to search through, and he didn't feel particularly up for anything so competitive or reliant on intense, prolonged interaction either way. Instead, in the evenings, Ignis carried on his lessons to teach Prompto how to cook. They were still on the basics: how to properly slice an onion, depending on what the meal called for. How to crush garlic to make it easier to peel. How to tell when a meal would fail for its monotony in texture.

Gladio dragged Noct to the various fishing spots nearby. They went far out of sight, finding the docks on the other side of the lake to see what new species lurked in those waters, and Noct's absence no longer made Ignis heart beat sickeningly fast.

He could tell, from that more than anything else, what had made the difference. What, exactly, his mind had decided to use to patch the tear and settle its anxious fears. He'd always liked self-reflection, or self-criticism as it usually – though not this time – turned out, and he'd certainly had the time to wallow in it the past couple of weeks. Judging by the looks Gladio was giving him, Gladio had not worked through the same level of reflection despite the time he'd also had.

Ignis owed him an explanation, then. Or, if perhaps not owed, then an explanation would be the decent thing to do. They were, after all, friends. Gladio was getting more twitchy rather than less so, never quite as confident in placing his hands on Ignis as he wanted to look.

That afternoon, when Noct and Prompto had disappeared off to the lake, Ignis lay on his front and let Gladio massage his leg.

'You're pushing yourself too hard,' Gladio said, but in a neutral sort of way, like he'd say to any one of the Crownsguard he might have done this for, back when there still had been a Crownsguard.

Ignis made a soft noise to show that he'd heard but didn't necessarily agree, which turned into a hiss as Gladio's fingers dug deep in to the muscle of his calf.

'You're not actually injured right now, but keep this up and you will strain something, and that'll only take even longer to heal.' Again, that professional, detached advice, as if it weren't Ignis' injury keeping them all here when they had considerably more important things to be doing.

Ignis didn't reply. This would be a good time to have that private conversation they needed, but the words required to start it were missing, still. He searched for them, and wondered when he'd started enjoying the painful press of Gladio's fingers on him, and the way it made his whole body come alive with alertness, an adrenaline rush that left him breathlessly sick. There'd been a time, not long ago, that Gladio's hands on him would have made his heart beat hard in a very different kind of way. He doubted very much that Gladio wanted to know either of those things – or, at least, hear him say it, because presumably he knew both anyway.

In the end, it was Gladio who had the starting words for their private conversation.

'So,' he said, hands disappearing from Ignis' thigh. 'Not that I'm complaining, but...'

He trailed off. Ignis waited for him to continue, though nothing more came. He realised he was almost disappointed the massage was over, and smothered his smile in his arms as he tried to catch his breath. 'But?' he prompted, eventually, when Gladio continued to not speak.

'Since that tomb, you've been – ah, fuck it. I'm happy you're not a ball of shot nerves no more, sure, but you're gonna have to explain to me why. If you're just repressing it or some shit, or–'

'Or if I'm truly so fucked up to have that incident be the thing that set me straight.' Ignis spoke with his mouth still curled up in a slight smile, because it was, after all, patiently ridiculous. He rolled over and sat up, less because he minded Gladio's presence looming over his prone body and more because he thought Gladio would appreciate having this conversation on level ground.

Gladio rolled his eyes but didn't correct him. He shuffled back so there was a little more room between them in the tent. 'Yeah,' he said. 'That.'

Ignis shrugged. 'It set me straight. You know the reason I drew you away, when you were confused, was in order to protect Noct from you. I suppose I'd still been frightened that you might harm him, all that time afterwards. But then, in that tomb, you proved that you wouldn't. In fact you proved very decisively that you'd protect him at all costs.'

There was a moment's silence as Gladio stared down at his hands, digesting that piece of information. 'So because I knowingly left you to die a horrible fucking death,' he said, but didn't finish, because outside the tent they both heard the sound of something – the scrape of shoe on rocky ground.

Ignis was up on his feet, the pain in his knee not stopping him from bursting from the tent and running almost straight into Noct, whose eyes were wide with deep, wild fury.

'I knew it, I fucking knew it.' Noct fought Ignis' grip on his upper arms, trying to shove past him. 'Gladio, you lying fuck, you told me you hadn't seen him – you told me you hadn't known–'

Ignis felt more than heard Gladio exit the tent. Gladio stopped just behind him, and didn't say anything. At some point Noct stopped trying to free himself from Ignis and started clutching right back at him instead.

'He almost died!' Noct's eyes were bright with tears; he was shaking with anger. Distractedly, Ignis could see Prompto running up to the haven, slowing to a jog then hesitant walk by the time he got within hearing distance. 'He was – he was in so much fucking pain and you couldn't even stop for thirty seconds to help him! What if – what if we'd got back ten minutes later and he was dead because you didn't even care enough, you just fucking walked off and _I wasn't even in any danger in the first place_ –'

'Noct,' Ignis said, mostly automatically, trying to catch Noct's eye. 'Noct.'

'And you,' Noct said, turning to look at Ignis. He swiped the tears from his eyes, leaving just the anger behind. 'You let him. You didn't say anything. You could've died, or been crippled for life, and you don't even care–'

'Noct, listen,' Gladio said, rough, deep voice gone strained and stilted.

'You know it's our duty,' Ignis said, as gently as he could, at the same time Prompto finally arrived and said, very quiet and careful, 'Noct, buddy.'

'I don't want it!' Noct' voice, raised to a shout, shut everyone up. 'I don't want it,' he said again, in the silence, quieter and trembling. 'I don't want you sacrificing yourself for me, or – or sacrificing each other, either. I just–'

He stopped short, took a deep breath, and turned his eyes to look at Gladio. 'I can't believe you lied to me, you fucking coward,' he said. His voice was hard, low, ground out through his teeth. Then he jerked back from Ignis, sudden enough to break free from his grasp, turned, and stalked away, back to the lake.

'I'll go,' Ignis said, on reflex, staring at Noct's back.

'You sure?' Gladio sounded shaken in a way he very rarely was.

Ignis answered by grabbing his shoes, shoving them on, and jogging to catch up.

He sat next to Noct, where he was hunched on the dock, for the next hour. They didn't speak, except for when Noct said, mumbling: 'You'd be better off without me.'

'A long time ago, perhaps,' Ignis said. 'But it's too late for that now.'

They went back to the camp. Ignis' knee had stiffened from the cold and hard wood boards of the dock; it ached like there was a nail stuck deep in the joint, but he managed not to limp too badly, and he supposed he ought to be glad that everyone's tempers were too worn out for anyone to bother bringing it up.

He cooked, and Prompto helped, chopping and washing up as they went along. It was nice to have help, but Prompto was clearly doing it because he was too nervous to be around Noct or Gladio at the moment – which, in all fairness, Ignis could understand. It felt like a stiff breeze would set either of them off. They sat at opposite ends of the haven, not looking at each other.

They ate in silence, and afterwards Gladio did not offer to help Ignis with his stretches, nor suggest another massage. It was hard to tell whether it was for his own sake, or Noct's. They went to bed in silence, Gladio in one end of the tend and Ignis in the other, and Noct all but curled up in Ignis' arms.

Even though he was hardly back to full mobility Ignis couldn't help but be relieved when Noct announced the next morning that he was sick of this place, sick of camping, and they were going to go stay somewhere else. Anywhere with a ceiling, he said; he didn't care.

No one argued. They piled into the Regalia, Ignis getting behind the wheel with no small amount of anticipation. It would be good to be be on the move and good to drive again, even though his left leg was already protesting at the thought of so much forced inaction. And he very much looked forwards to the shower at the motel.

His body remembered driving, and even his left leg didn't object too much. Prompto fiddled with the radio but didn't need more than one look from Ignis to stop channel hopping. Gladio read. Noct napped – or, given just how quickly his eyes closed, alternated between sleeping and pretending to sleep. Prompto fidgeted and drew Ignis into stilted conversations each barely thirty seconds long, about the weather, the way one of the buttons on his camera was coming loose, the potential reasons for why some trees had weird lumps on their trunks. Then they were at the motel in Old Lestallum, and it was completely inadvisable from a financial standpoint, but when Noct marched up to the counter and asked for two rooms instead of one, no one argued.

No one argued when he said, 'Ignis is sharing with me.'

They went to their rooms, got back together to have an awkward dinner at the Crow's Nest, then returned. Through the walls of the room Ignis could hear Prompto and Gladio talking. He couldn't hear what they were saying, or the tone of it.

'Noct,' Ignis said, eventually, when he was done with his stretches, lying down on the bed aching and unfairly exhausted. 'You know it's not Gladio's fault.'

Noct didn't reply from where he was slumped on the other bed, one arm covering his eyes, the other cradling his phone on his stomach. Ignis sighed and rolled his shoulders into the thin mattress, wondering if a second shower of the night would be too much.

'I know. It's just,' Noct said, and removed his arm from his face. He stared up at the ceiling, not saying anything, and Ignis let him. Trying to pry now would be the worst thing to do in order to make Noct talk, and he had over a decade of experience in dealing with Noct's sullen silences. Patience came very easily.

Gladio and Prompto had stopped talking. There was thumping noises from down the hall, a few loud bangs of someone manhandling luggage up the stairs. He wondered how long it would take for Noct and Gladio to start talking to each other again.

Noct made a frustrated sound, but small. His voice was thin. 'Losing you makes me... I'm so scared, all the time, that something will happen to one of you. I can't... I hate it. I hate that you're in danger anyway; I hate that being close to me puts you in even more danger. And when you start acting like... like you don't matter, like I'm the only one who matters...'

He trailed off, then started again after a long moment. 'Your life is worth more than that. If I get hurt, so what, I'll get better. But I need you. I can get by if I'm hurt, but not without you. I know I shouldn't have, yesterday... but, please, Ignis. Please. Don't make me–'

He stopped abruptly and put his arm back over his face. 'Fuck,' he said, muffled.

The twinge as Ignis swung his legs over the side of the bed didn't seem to matter much any more. 'Noct,' he said. 'Forgive me.'

He might have said _I hadn't realised_ , but it'd be a lie, because of course he knew how much Noct cared for him, and how Noct feared the loss of his loved ones more than anything, and hated any sacrifice in his name besides.

'It's fine,' Noct said. 'I get it. It's your duty. It's how it is. I just need to get over it.'

Ignis walked the couple of paces to Noct's bed and gingerly laid himself down on it, besides Noct. Uncovering his eyes Noct glanced down for a moment, as if expecting to see blood, Ignis' leg still crushed, bone shards poking tents in the fabric of his trousers. Then he looked back up at Ignis' face.

'I'm sorry,' Ignis said. 'Please believe me when I say that leaving you is the last thing I want.'

Noct looked back at the ceiling. 'I know,' he said. A fragile smile appeared around the edges of his mouth. 'If nothing else that's one thing I believe.'

There wasn't anything else he could say, or at least not that was both truthful and would help calm Noct – because he knew he would sacrifice himself for Noct's sake, and happily. He'd sacrifice Gladio and Prompto, and others as well, whole cities of innocents, to the point where he wasn't quite sure where his boundaries lay, and he knew that was the last thing Noct wanted to hear. So instead he let himself lie back, silence filling up the room as he kneaded the muscle of his thigh where it had tightened up.

Noct shot him a glance. 'Does it hurt?' he said.

'A little. It's getting better, but it disagreed with the journey, I fear.'

'Is there anything I can do?'

Ignis sat up; Noct rolled over onto his side to watch him. 'Help me with these stretches?' Ignis said.

Wordlessly, Noct got up and helped.

As it turned out, Noct hadn't just paid for two rooms but two nights as well – or, at least, gone downstairs while no one noticed to pay for a second night. That evening Ignis told Noct, as gently as he could, that he was going to be staying with Gladio. For a moment he thought Noct would object – then Noct shrugged and turned away. 'Sure,' he said.

Gladio watched him as he brought his bag in, setting it on the bed Prompto had just vacated to fish out his pyjamas and toothbrush. Judging from his expression, Ignis thought, knowing himself to be uncharitable but unable to help it, Gladio was thinking that Noct ought to have done the swap instead. As if Ignis were an invalid on bed-rest – as if Noct were the servant to wait on Ignis, instead of it being the other way around. Gladio was still irritated at having been caught out, that Noct had been so upset at his deception.

And yes, it was true that Noct had overreacted. But Noct had his reasons, and almost losing someone only to find out he'd been lied to on the circumstances around it – and so soon after the first incident, which Noct had dealt with remarkably well but had undeniably shaken him – had been a considerable blow. One night to reassure him, to soothe back the fears that had haunted him since childhood, was such a little thing. And still Gladio resented it, despite it being his fault to begin with.

At least he didn't comment. Ignis wasn't sure he wouldn't argue back if Gladio did try to pick a fight – but never mind. Now that most things were out in the open, and both he and Gladio going to be considerably more careful on the truth of the first incident, hopefully there would be both no more overreactions.

As if in defiance to that hope, and knowing it a bad idea but not able to stop himself, Ignis showered then lay down to run through his stretches shirtless, just to see what Gladio's reaction would be. Still damp, his shirt hanging over the bath to drip-dry, Ignis lay on the grimy floor as if it were completely normal. Regret hit him instantly, but he could hardly stop now. He was careful not to look, but he could still see from the corner of his eye as Gladio pulled a book from the armiger, turned his back, and started to read.

The hot flush of humiliation hit him, and Ignis realised he was embarrassed to be this shameless, half naked in front of someone so clearly uninterested – performing for an audience that did not want to even consider him. His knee ached, gentle pain turning harsh with the strain of the stretches. But then, why should he be surprised at the fact that Gladio did not want him, to the point of being utterly disinterested in even looking? Why had he done this humiliating display in the first place? After all, they’d played this exact same scene out at the haven a few days ago, only the other way round, and he’d hardly shown Gladio any more interest than Gladio was currently showing him.

Even if wounded, his pride still insisted he finish his stretches and not hurry, not show that he’d been affected even if Gladio wasn’t looking to notice it either way. The silence filled up the room, punctuated by the sound of people moving about the rest of the motel, a distant radio or TV, cars outside. The pain in his leg grew through the stretches, shooting up to his hip, his knee throbbing, and Ignis breathed out harsh between his teeth. By the time he was finished he was panting, regretting having been impatient enough to have his shower before the stretches. He retreated into the bathroom to splash water on his face and wipe himself down with a damp cloth. His back felt deeply filthy for having been pressed against the floor.

By the time he got out, fully dressed, Gladio’s book was open on his chest, face down. Gladio lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like the text he wanted to read was written up there instead of in his hands. Gladio opened his mouth, took a short breath as if to speak, then shut it. He closed his eyes a second later.

‘How’s,’ he said, after a moment. ‘How’re the brats doing?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ Ignis said, sitting down to lie back on his own bed, as if he’d just been to talk to them instead of in the bathroom, and the four of them hadn’t spent the day together, hunting. As if Ignis were the authority and Gladio an outsider. Ignis stopped, considered saying more – _Noct is still shaken, but he’s managing_ – then decided against it.

Gladio let out a long, shaky breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Good.’

Ignis propped himself up on an elbow, looking over at him. ‘Gladio,’ he said, and hesitated. Was this a good time? If not, when would be a good time? ‘Are you all right?’

Turning his head, Gladio sent Ignis a long, pointed look. ‘Sure, he said. ‘I’m fine.’

They stared at each other, the moment stretching painfully. Then Gladio snorted and looked away, back up to the ceiling. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘You focus on Noct. Keep him happy – as much as he’ll ever be. He deserves that at least.’

Half a dozen replies deadlocked in Ignis’ throat. ‘Yes,’ he said, eventually.

He lay back down. It was too early to sleep, but he didn’t much feel like looking at his phone, or playing cards by himself, much less asking to play with Gladio. His knee still ached, and he focused on the dull pulsing pain of it, radiating down his shin and up his thigh. The pain would take a while more to fade, but the joint itself was stronger now, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it giving in battle. That, at least, was one weight off his mind. Perhaps on the road they'd have less time to go at each other's throats.

They shouldn't be at each other's throats even with all the time in the world.

Something had gone wrong. When? Right from the incident with the confusion? Afterwards? Why hadn't he been able to see it and fix it before it had got to this?

‘Hey, Iggy,’ Gladio said, in the silence. ‘C’mere?’

Ignis rolled over, pushing himself up off his bed to go kneel on the edge of Gladio’s, looking down at him. Gladio moved his book off to one side, gave Ignis a few seconds, then reached over to take him by the waist and pull him in to straddle his hips.

They stayed there, still, for a long moment. Gladio’s body was hot under Ignis thighs, and his hands loose on his waist. Ignis bent down to kiss him, long and slow, sucking gently on his tongue as Gladio pressed it against his lips, then into his mouth. His eyes drifted closed; Gladio’s hands pushed under his top, running up the length of his back.

Ignis broke the kiss. ‘Gladio,’ he said, breathing out his sigh onto Gladio’s lips. Gladio’s body lay limp and unresponsive beneath him, as if only his face and hands were aware that Ignis was there at all.

‘I know,’ Gladio said. ‘Just...’

They kissed again, slow, tired more than sensual. Ignis pulled back, dipped down again to press his lips to the side of Gladio’s mouth. Stubble grazed his chin. He sat back up again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gladio said.

‘Perhaps,’ Ignis said, as he pushed himself off to sit back on the side of the bed. ‘Perhaps another time.’

Gladio made a sound, a short, quiet laugh, not bitter but without much mirth either. ‘Sure,’ he said. He turned his head to look away, then closed his eyes.

There was silence, just for a moment, before the sound of a car outside broke it. Ignis tilted his head, listening, but realised he couldn't hear either Noct or Prompto. Were they all right? How was Noct holding up? It had only been one night he'd been able to comfort him, after all. What if he'd wanted more – needed more – but hadn't said so, because he'd wanted to act independent for Ignis' sake? What if, right at this moment, he was thinking about Ignis?

What if he wasn't?

Sitting there on the bed, so close he could almost feel the heat of Gladio's body, Ignis felt something stick in his throat. It was sharp, painful, and it took him a moment to realise it was loneliness.

'Gladio,' he said, 'are we still...' He searched for an appropriate word and came up short.

Gladio looked at him then sat up, propping himself up on one hand. 'Really depends on what the next word of that sentence is,' he said.

'Don't be facetious,' Ignis said, but the sharp tightness in his throat loosened. His lips, of their own accord, curled into the shape of a slight smile.

'Not like you to be unspecific.' The expression on Gladio's face was, Ignis thought, not a grin, but something else he didn't have time to see properly – Gladio pulled him in with an arm around his shoulders, pressing him to his broad chest. Only realising it after he'd already moved, Ignis wrapped his arms around Gladio, and hid his face in Gladio's shoulder. His heart was beating hard. He was trembling.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his voice muffled into the warm press of Gladio's body. 'I don't know what to do. I'm sorry.'

'I know,' Gladio said. 'And it's okay. You don't need to be.'

Ignis pressed his eyes shut. He breathed out, forcing it steady. After a few breaths, he succeeded. 'Only if you accept that for yourself as well.'

Gladio laughed, the sound of it from his chest and throat more than his mouth, low and rumbling, like thunder. 'All right,' he said. 'That's fair. I'll give it a try.'

They sat together for a while more, then Ignis lifted his head.

'... Did you have your pack of cards? It's far too early to sleep now.'

'Yeah,' Gladio said, moving back, and raised a hand to pull the cards from the armiger. He smiled – tired, but a smile all the same. 'Okay.'


End file.
